Blood Curse

be able to take her power.

“Why do you hunt and kill vampires?” she asked quietly, surprising him. He thought he’d distracted her from that. “There were vampires at Mrs. Darkwell’s. They didn’t hurt anyone.”

“Some do. We shouldn’t speak of this here. People wouldn’t understand.”

She glanced around. Laughter came from down the hall, but they were currently alone in the statue-filled corridor, with its watered silk walls and gleaming floor. “I should not be here. What if I touch someone or someone touches me? It doesn’t take much for me to hurt someone . . . normal.”

“I will keep you by me and ensure no one touches you.” He put his hands on her shoulders and placed her in front of him. Behind her, Raven gritted his teeth as pain shot through his arms. At least she didn’t appear to feel it. He propelled her toward the laughter and noise at the end of the hall. On the way, he lifted his right hand from her shoulder, whisked a glass of champagne from a footman’s silver tray, and pressed it into her hand.

She wrinkled her nose and peered at the slender flute, the golden liquid, the popping bubbles, as if he’d given her a witch’s brew. “I’ve never had champagne.”

“Try it. If you want to be free of your power, you are going to have to spread your wings a little and fly into adventure.”

He watched her slim, gloved fingers pinch the stem. Her lower lip plumped as she rested the gilt rim of the glass on it, then sipped. Her eyes widened, large and blue. A soft giggle escaped. “It tickles,” she whispered.

He bent close to her small, delicate ear. Her golden curls brushed his lips. “See. Pleasures await when you are adventurous.”

He let his breath whisper over her ear. But getting so close he breathed her scent, and it was a damned mistake. Fang eruption occurred, and he had to hide them. At least he stood at her back, where she could not see.

The drawing room doors were open, and he directed her inside. He kept his attention on people around them—to ensure no one collided with Ophelia. His glower made men step back and women retreat to give them space. Gentlemen near the door wore tailcoats, waistcoats, trousers, cravats. Fully dressed, they wouldn’t shock Ophelia. Most of the women wore just shifts, corsets, petticoats. Or filmy nightdresses of silk. Though in the middle of the room there was probably an energetic orgy taking place, with eager males penetrating every orifice of bounteous and willing women.

“Oh, he’s tied up!” Ophelia cried.

Raven looked up. His jaw dropped down.

He was staring at a muscular, naked arse. The crowd had gathered in a circle around the display in the center of the room. A riding crop whistled through the air and landed with a sharp thwak on the tight, rounded rump. Broad shoulders jerked, muscles twitched, and a black scarf tied at the back of his head showed he was blindfolded. He looked about two-and-twenty, with curly blond hair. His arms stretched above his head, his wrists tied together. Ropes ran from his bound hands to hooks in the ceiling.

Hades, Raven had thought this was a club where, if there was play of this sort, the males were dominant, the women submissive. Apparently, he’d chosen the wrong one.

Another woman stepped forward—the dominant females wore corsets dyed black with their large bosoms jiggling on top of the boning. She spanked the young man with a wooden paddle. A third attended to his rump with the flat of her hand.

Ophelia twisted to face him, her eyes as large as saucers. “You wish me to tie you up and smack you with things?”

“No. Wrong club,” he muttered. “Come, this is enough for tonight.” Between visiting Guidon and coming here, they had spent enough time out. He should get her home before dawn.

“Was this your idea of what we would do instead of touching? Spanking?” she asked, her eyes wide and guileless.

The image of spanking her voluptuous bottom speared him. But he was not going to have her do it to him. He should have known Lady Ophelia would not be so easily quelled.

“It can be erotic,” he said. “But I—”

“Well, if it’s what you wanted to do,” she said briskly, “I’ll start on you.”

A bark of a laugh left his lips. That was not going to happen. He could not deal with being struck, not by a woman. Not after his years with Queen Jade.

“No, you will not. We are going to return to the house.”

“You want to go home already? We just arrived.”

“I did not expect the men would be submissive,” he growled. “I don’t want to give you too many ideas. We need to go. It’s almost dawn.”

Damnation, he was rattled. He should not have said that.

* * *

“You do not really want me to spank you, do you, Ravenhunt?”

“Indeed, I do not.” But he gave her a smile filled with devilment, thoroughly mischievous. They had stepped into the foyer of his house. Using the key she had swiped earlier, he locked the door, then slid four bolts across to secure it.

Yes, he had definitely allowed her to escape earlier, for those heavy, awkward bolts had been left open. Now he was making sure his house was completely secure.

She couldn’t bear to think of men who wanted to kill her. She was too tired.

Spanking. Ophelia never would have dreamed she would think about spanking a man so she did not have to think about assassins and mad scientists.

He turned to her. Moonlight spilled in through small windows flanking the door, sending blue streaks through his hair, casting blue shadows across his crisply sculpted features.

His was a beautiful face. Her fingers tingled. Suddenly she was compelled to sculpt it. To remember every detail so she could slowly coax marble to flow in those magnificent lines.

“To be honest,” he said, “I was planning to spank you.”

She quirked a brow. “I wouldn’t like that. It would hurt.”

“I would never hurt you.” His voice was smooth as chocolate, deep and husky. “Think of the way it would tease your skin.”

“A blow would not tease me!”

“A soft blow. Just enough to ignite your nerve endings. Enough to make your skin sensitive and your nerves sizzle. To send a rush of electric sensation through your body. To make your quim ache and pulse. To make you feel, my dear. I could make you come, just by spanking you.”

“Come? Come where?” she asked, confused.

“Coming means the orgasm you will have.”

She looked at him, lost. “What is that?”

“When your body feels pleasure—when it feels sexual stimulation—tension builds inside you. Your body works toward a climax, with the pleasure building and building until you want to scream. Then it explodes inside you, on a wave of pleasure that melts your soul, my love.”

She shivered. His husky voice was like a magic spell. She almost said yes. “Spanking is a punishment.”

“In this case, it would be erotic foreplay.”

Ophelia shook her head. His mouth hardened, forming harsh lines to bracket his firm, bronze-pink lips. “A deal,” he offered, gruffly. “You spank me first, then I do it to you.”

She frowned.

“Come, love. I’m allowing you to do it first.”

“All right.” But her agreement was a lie. She was not going to be struck on her bottom—no matter what he thought she’d agreed to. “Do we go up to the bedroom? What about your room? I haven’t seen any other bedchamber that looks like it is used.”

She had almost forgotten about that. It was another mystery about him.

He shrugged. For a man who had got what he wanted, he looked troubled. “My line of work—killing vampires—keeps me awake at nights. That’s when I hunt them. So I don’t need to use a bedchamber.” A sharp tug of his gloved hand and he’d undone his cravat. He let it drop to the floor of the foyer.

Ravenhunt was undressing right here.